Of Healing and Cleansing
by SavvyNBrash
Summary: Bathtime fun and hair brushing ensues. Much to the chagrin of Captain Jack Sparrow.


Title: Of Healing and Cleansing  
Author: Frost AND Kacey   
Rating: PG-13   
Summary: Bath time fun—without the rubber ducky.   
Disclaimer: We don't own Jack or Will, or anything else here. But we can pretend, and have fine delusions of grandeur about it.   
Archive: O_O Yes..! Tell us first, though.   
Authors notes: This takes place right after "Of Bloody Apologies". And, uh, we call it…Closet Sponge Lovers.   
Oh yeah. Jack is played by Frost, and Will by Kacey.

**- - - William - - -:**      It seemed that the reality of the day had been quite draining enough - for no dreams fitted Jack's unconscious recuperation. And Will should know, he kept attentive watch over the dark fiend of a man, who in rest, seemed to be far more pacified than his waking hours of watchful alertness. Let not the Captain's inebriated swaggers and purring slurs trick you, he was always planning, conjuring a plan, ready for anything, desiring everything. Yet in sleep, those sharp eyes were calmed shut and the pirate was simply floating adrift the ocean, on his ship. Will sat on the edge of the bed where Sparrow lay, without blankets around him due to the temperature, and cut the extra threads of a newly fastened bandage with his knife. Shielded by the wrapped cloth, a nasty puncture, merely the small width of a blade, but far too deep in its inch. Should he wake Jack yet.... Best let it happen on its own. Turner shifted his attention back to the bathtub he had already filled for his own use, deft fingers working the muscles of his sore neck and his bare arms, he had shed his vest and shirt for the bath. 

**- - - Jack - - -:**     True, the wound had been cut deeply--but thankfully it had been clean. Jack would suffer no sickness from the injury, beside lack of usage of his arm for some time. If all went well, however, it wouldn't be that long of a recovery period, ( it could safely be assumed that William himself was going to make sure that all would go well )and it would very likely leave only a small scar. It had been some few hours since Jack had fallen asleep, and so instead of truly being asleep now, he drifted between that and half-consciousness. Not quite feeling up to being awake, but not really tired anymore, either. Dark kohl lined eyes didn't bother to open just yet, but they were most likely working their way up to that. Ears were quickly taking in the sounds of the going-ons around the room (Jack found that since he'd been blinded for that short while, he paid a lot more attention to his other senses). Clothing fell to the floor, and he quite honestly knew the noise well. Injury didn't keep him from being curious--and most definitely didn't keep his mind from the idea of sex--and so he finally cracked open an eye to see what was going on in his own cabin. It took a moment to adjust, chocolate eye narrowing at the small bit of light in the room, and then he opened the other. Much better, he decided, eyes trailing over to the other side of the room. Will, shirtless, was standing near his tub. That was always appealing... He cleared his throat softly--lifting himself up on his good elbow as he did so. "How's your side?" No, he hadn't forgotten that he'd cut the other man. 

**- - - William - - -:**     Will's fingers were still knotted in the laces of his trousers, belt and sword scabbard put away ages ago, when sleep clouded and onyx rimmed eyes were leveled to his back. Neck swiveled first, catching this attention over expanse of shoulder with his own cast of look. In Will's never ceasing shy bit of manner, the eyes flickered down again, not shy of his exposure ( Jack had seen quite an abundant amount of that from his cabin-mate ), but an apologetic gesture. It made him look terribly young, battle scars and sun weathered skin aside, terribly young. "Nearly healed." An offer, relief in the tone. Jack was up, Jack was talking. The wound in question had not spilt blood long, and now just a remnant of black line scoring from his navel to the left underside of his ribs. Trifle. Turning fully revealed this. William lowered to perch on the edge of that tub now, laces left untied, boots (with that obnoxiously large buckle) getting fingers concentration, working them off. Another offer, spoken down as he removed the shoes. "Care to join me." 

**- - - Jack - - -:**      Eyebrows lifted slightly, and the corner of Jack's mouth twitched upward into a smile. He was very well aware of the fact that his body was still half stained with his own dried blood (despite Will's efforts to clean it off with a shirt) and that a bath would do wonders for him. A bath with William involved would do even better. "Aye," he responded--moving to fully sit up; it took some bit of effort, as he notice that his right arm was in a make shift sling. Which made a lot of sense, since it hurt when he attempted to do little more than wiggle his fingers. It would be better if he didn't try using that arm for a while. It'd heal faster, anyway. It wasn't dizzying to stand up, though, and that was a good sign. He stood at the edge of the bed for a moment though, as if doing a silent survey of his own health--just for safety's sake. He didn't seem bitter about the whole ordeal, either, which would very likely bode well for William Turner. He glanced back over to William then before he canted his head momentarily and made his way over to the tub in that infamous swaying saunter of his. "Is it hot?" He hoped so. 

**- - - William - - -:**      While Jack had particularly never worried over things like soap in every bath, sponges or plain brushes - Will, raised by just a mother before her death, had been cultured with all the teachings of the English bathing rituals. And, upon that faithful day of joining this Black Pearl's motley crew - all that good hygiene paraphernalia had come along, and stayed within that room he occupied (Jack's room, of course), currently littered around the feet of the tub. Easy access. "It is. Still cooling." Shoes banished into the sidelines, the boy rose again after skimming the back of a finger across water surface - testing. Yes. Almost ready. Once standing, leveled with his counterpart (if not just those two-three inches above level with him), William surveyed Jack with a smooth look, maintaining a natural ease to it, comfortable, while now freely having the ability to step out of the rest of his clothes. Never ask a pirate if he needs help with anything, so a blacksmith's hand went to a pirate's waist and the streaks of his brows lifted to question. Going to let me do it, Jack? 

**- - - Jack - - -:**      Jack only shrugged--or attempted to. It looked sort of silly with only one shoulder moving upward, but he managed-somehow-to make it seem natural. "Well, I do need them off." An affirmation. He'd already noted--through bare feet on a cool wooden floor--that his boots had been taken off in his sleep. Which was good--it made things easier for both men. His own hand was moving to untie the leather binding there (he would not stand for not having any control in the matter, even if his left hand wasn't as adept at maneuvering than his right was). Once the knot was out, he'd let Will do the rest of the work. Not like the man hadn't stripped him of his pants before, that was for sure. By now, it would be second nature for William (and not even only William's -hands-). That thought amused the Captain more than he should have, and so he let out a soft chuckle. No hard feelings, right, William? 

**- - - William - - -:**      It could very well be that Will was the foremost expert in displacing Jack's pants (and yes, occasionally without the use of hands), even to the point where he knew just where the Captain would shudder when his hands passed (or teeth bit) a certain spot at the inside of right knee. William might not know why that specific spot got such a reaction, but that was not what mattered, what mattered was knowing of it at all. How few really did? The boy always quietly believed that he was the only one. The clothing, upon separation from Sparrow, was tucked under a pile of blood tainted vest and shirt. It seemed the residue of their battle was every where, skin, clothes ( and even a blemish of red coloring marked the woven hair closest to falling in Jack's eyes, Will noticed this). The evidence of a clash. Everywhere. Except in the men themselves. The eyes that spoke of only moving on, of taking baths and finding solace again in a shared bed. They had dueled over a deep sated affection, and the severity of these wounds were probably only a testament to how steadily that affection truly ran. William's wry grin reflected the sultry smirking one of his foe. No hard feelings. "I'll be in the back this time." Obviously, they had done this before. Switching on and off between who was in front of who? Yes. Being in front meant getting the attention of the other, and the younger had quite the sneaky little plan for that hair brush over there. Watch out, Jack. No mercy. 

**- - - Jack - - -:**      Head tilted to the side a little and Sparrow could only nod in approval. He liked being in the front. After all, he was a pirate and getting was always better than giving (though the latter wasn't a bad thing at all when it came to Will). He did so like having all the attention directed at him--well, when it came to things like this, anyhow. "So get in," his words were not exactly impatient--they were just hovering near it (which wasn't exactly a new thing, Jack was a childish lover when he wanted to be). He stepped forward, getting out of William's way, and then paid some mind to his wound. He wondered idly if the sling should come off for the bath--it seemed a terrible waste to get the cloth wet. Then again, it would be worse to move it. He'd leave it up to William, who admittedly knew more about wounds than he did--which was fully understandable, as he'd lived in a civil place like Port Royal almost all his life. A pirates way of taking care of a wound was tying something around it, or cutting said spot of wound off if it looked too bad. Keep in mind that Jack was far to vain to ever have a peg leg. He'd die before he had a stump of wood on his knee. 

**- - - William - - -:**      No peg legs here. Feet, unintentionally a different, less sun-familiar color, stepped into the depth of the bath, allowing for a smooth submerge that only lifted the surface of water a bit with his lanky, tall shape. William apparently banished the apologies and fretting from his mind and tongue, a contentedly leisure recline onto one side of the tub. "Anything else?" Was that a bit of seduction darkening his eyes, possibly it was just an illusion from the invitingly sensual way he was positioned, leaving the perfectly fit amount of space for a subtly smaller pirate before him, between legs that were bent up just enough to grace the surface with the tops of knees. "Last requests? Once you come in, William's in command." Captain or not. They had bath rules. Jack was HIS for whatever little tortures Turner might like. Those were the rules. Not guidelines. As for the sling, Will made no remark to taking it off, that was not a good idea. He'd insist Jack leave it be if the man attempted removing. Get it wet, it was better than agitating the wound with too much movement. Just get in. Who was impatient now? 

**- - - Jack - - -:**      It both amused Jack when William took control, and turned him on at the same time. There was something fully gratifying about Will taking command--since it was something that Jack himself did just naturally. "Oh, no." He responded, not at all meekly as he moved to step into tub and scooted himself into a comfortable position between the blacksmith's legs. "No requests, no concerns--I'm sure you'll take good care of me." Jack didn't even bother hiding his bit of innuendo in his speech--it came naturally, in most cases and they both knew it. The water was just a little less than scalding--and the pirate captain liked the feel of the hot water against his skin. It was soothing. He reclined slightly, leaning back some against William in order to get most of his chest wet. Bandages became soggy, but his shoulder wasn't submerged, and so it wasn't a big deal. His other hand skirted the water, as if just enjoying the feel of it. He thanked himself (for what felt like the hundredth time) for having commandeered this bathtub so long ago. It was sure being put to some good uses, lately.

**- - - William - - -:**      The parted legs drawn toward Jack's torso between them, sharing warmth of contact, a purely welcome reassurance that neither of them were going anywhere. Will's left arm folded over the lip of the tub, the other expertly guiding wet fingers into braided hair, the strings (leather and cloth) twining that inky mane floating like tendrils through the heated water between them. He was already working free the linked strings, uncoiling locks from each other - such a dedicated worker, that child. But Jack's dip of body toward his own was enough to slow the workings of fingers enough for Will to take advantage of the position, head bowed toward Jack's ear (revealed now because the hair had been drawn back behind it for treatment), and lips pressed upon the shell of his bewitching captive, for now it was a game of kidnapping. And wasn't Will someone's personal Rescuer? I'll always take good care of you. A kiss on the ear could say something like that. 

And the unexpected tug of braided hair could say something like - The brush has arrived. 

**- - - Jack - - -:**     Not that Jack was looking to be taken care of--he was a pirate captain, after all, not some husband who needed a partner to dote on him--but if Will was so persistent on having the job, who was he to argu--"The bloody hell!" Jack's eyes, which had been drifting closed in contentment tore back open in surprise. What on -earth- was William doing with his hair? He moved quickly--wincing at the pain it caused his shoulder only momentarily; and yelping at the further tugging the movement caused. Eyes narrowed on the brush that was fixed between William's fingers--surprise and something that hovered between amusement and annoyance on his face. "And just what is it that you think you're doin', love?" Jack, in his moment of dismay, forgot about the "bathtub rules". 

**- - - William - - -:**     Innocently brandishing the stem of that bristly grooming brush, William was already locating a new place to apply it within the complex ocean of Jack's mane. A lengthy handful of locks within palm when his pirate turned to investigate. Eyes narrowed a bit with the aid of furrowed brow, voice playfully taking the role that was rightfully his at the moment. Command. Will is your Captain now, mate. "No concern of yours, remember?" Some of the scattered shorter wisps of braid slipping through his fingers, which seemed absently fascinated with the texture, discovering and rediscovering Jack anew, despite knowing every inch so well, always just that much hungry for more. In a gesture of comfort amongst authority, Will delivered a sponge from the floor to the water, soaking in its toasted liquid and smoothing it down the plain of a sharp tan shoulder, a smooth, soft contradiction to the yanks and aches of brushed hair. The sponge thankfully rid away some blood that had been thrown on to that one uninjured shoulder. A sponge was forgiving, wiping crime away without asking for anything in return. Thank you, Sponge. 

**- - - Jack - - -:**      Jack did his best to turn around without any further complaints--more for the sake of playing the role of submissive than anything else--and smiled to himself before languidly leaning his uninjured arm against the side of the tub. Liquid grace, even under the embarrassing moment of having his hair brushed (he didn't admit to himself that he may just like the feeling of that brush against his scalp). It must have been achieved with the sponges help. Thank you, Sponge. "Right, right," he murmured, bemused. "No concern of mine. Sorry to interrupt." Mock manners. "Please, go on." Even if they were said correctly, the words just didn't seem to work coming out of Jack Sparrows' mouth. It must have been the whole infamous and dreaded evil pirate with a cursed ship from Hell, thing. That always did put a damper on his polite actions. 

**- - - William - - -:**      Drifting in an undecided loop between the challenge (and sheer rebelliousness) of untangling and the appeal of taking that puffed bit of sea sponge on a grand tour of Jack Sparrow. Perhaps both were in order for this bath. If he wanted them to be done - it was settled. The cleansing puff of material was let adrift for the time being, both hands destined to return focus to the brushing. Now that largest of the braids was released and long digits sifted through it, up again to the roots to coax them from their pain with a massage. It was a wonder that the bristles were working, some of it was straightening, smoothing down, the salt and wind burned strands actually taking a new life as deep midnight black soaked tendrils. Will's facade of dominance became merely a proud awe over his own work. Occasionally, the thumb and joining fingers would close on a chord of muscle between Jack's neck and shoulder and knead - this would happen whenever the boy seemed to be looking for the next best place to groom-attack. 

**- - - Jack - - -:**      The pirate fiend in between the blacksmith's legs was taking it rather well, actually. Despite the occasional tugging at his scalp, it wasn't all as painful as he'd imagined it would be. Kohl lined eyes were half lidded now, just soaking in the contented feel that the whole bath was giving him--he barely even noticed his aching shoulder. And it seemed that when it was all over, Jack would be cleaner, happier and have nicer hair. Was there much more Will could do for his ego? He hoped not--he didn't want the other pirates to laugh at him, after all. Leaning his head forward some, so that Will would have more room to work (as well as touch, he was verily enjoying that neck massage), the pirate let out a pleased sigh. There were times that the two--pirate and ex-blacksmith-- didn't need to exchange words to understand one another or be comfortable. Even a talkative man such as himself knew that; this seemed to be one of those times. There was no reason for words, and so he gave none. Let his poor lover work in silence--the back of Jack's mind laughed, noting that the task Will had picked was an overly difficult one--he didn't think to feel guilty about not taking care of his inky locks on his own. 

**- - - William - - -:**      Will would compensate for the thorough cleaning (hopefully more thorough washings were to come for other places) by re-braiding when it was all through, if not to return the original purpose of the weavings (to keep the hair out of a pirate's face), then maybe just for more excuse to touch and handle Jack. There was careful avoidance of beads, too set into their place to be combed out, and when all that could be accomplished with just one brush had been executed, William gave the tool it's grand reward by letting it float on the water of the tub with them. Eventually it would be applied to the length of his own, but being in the back of the tub (according to some very fine rules) meant you came second. A sharp boy remembers to check the state of a wound every once in a while, digits rubbing out coiled nerves from Jack's neck down to the space between his shoulder blades and slope of back (able to sit up enough to get the hands wedged between their two reclining bodies) and using the new attention as a sly way of making sure the cloth wasn't too wet or disturbed from its set position. Well, that sigh from Sparrow didn't sound too pain laced. So. Where's that sponge? Lucky creature. It didn't need to hold its breath under water the way William had to when he went where that sponge was about to go on Jack. 

**- - - Jack - - -:**      If getting his hair brushed in this manner all the time would result in what William was doing now, he'd vouch for a combing of his locks every day. With a little moan, Jack leaned back into Will--eyes closing all the way now, his mouth smiling a lazy sort of smile. His legs shifted, opening a little further (pressing against William's own) for convenience. "That," he stated huskily, "is really quite nice." And then the Pirate Captain--owner of the dreaded Black Pearl--purred, a low sound not really emitting from his mouth, but from deep in his throat. Yes--purred. Will seemed to be the only being that he'd met that could make him do that with little more than a touch--damned blacksmith must have had a very inflated ego. 

**- - - William - - -:**      Not just his ego. But again, those rules of second serving. Will's composure only breaking down for a brief writhe, the legs around the pirate were joined by the Blacksmith's arms, the prominent hand wielding a sponge, riding its rolling coarse texture down the stretch from Jack's chest to abdomen, to thighs. A brave mission to conquer the map of Sparrow. Divide and conquer. Scrape the tongue of that puff raw. Was Will getting a sick pleasure at producing those huskily spoken breaths, if so, it was only because of the corruption of Jack's influence (who _would_ receive such a sick pleasure from a sound like that from his Turner). So, no blaming of William for that wry grin, that sharp nose buried into column of tan throat, and response of a panted chuckle (it all just seemed fitting, didn't it?). Lucky sponge, it (and Will alike) sought to make Jack's response a little less coherent next time. 

**- - - Jack - - -:**      And less coherent it truly was, Jack's purr turned to something harder--more wanting, and more content at the same time. "Aah--" A short intake of breath was given as slender and subtle hips pressed upward slightly, as if trying to urge his blacksmith's hands a -little- further down than his thighs. Not that he really needed to urge the boy--the tub rules would take care of his needs fairly appropriately, after all. (This is why he liked sitting in the front). Head canted backward to rest easily in the spot underneath Will's chin (very likely mussing his hair, again), his free hand moving upward to rest on the back of the boy's head, even as he let out another small moan. It wasn't necessarily the sponge that was lucky, in this case. It was Jack, himself. And he'd be getting a tad bit luckier within the next few minutes. It was all just a matter of timing--opportune moments, and the like. Jack smiled--and it was a lazy and half dreamy sort of smile. 


End file.
